In honor of my new love affair with 30 is the new 13, I dug up what appears to be the beginning of a story that I wrote. I have no idea what age I was at the time, but judging by the handwriting and the fact that it is in cursive, I'm going with 4th or 5th grade.
She was as lovely a woman as there ever was. Scotti, yes, Scotti was her name (If you can't tell, I'm at the pretentious, pseudo-literary stage of my writing. This is what I believed real "literature" sounded like, having not actually read any actual "literature" at the time). Her mother, Cassandra, was known as Cassandra the Tyrant.
Scotti loved her mother but her heart yearned for freedom (as one's heart does, yes). Now as she was ready to take herself and her mother to the charity ball (She's as lovely a woman as there ever was, but she can't get a friggin' date?) she wanted freedom even more (I can't imagine why. At least she isn't yearning for it at this point, I guess).
Her beautiful soft brown locks pulled into a loose knot on top of her head with only one delicate ringlet left by her ear, and her soft creamy throat slipping from the emerald green silk (this seems like something she should have the doctor check for her. One's neck probably shouldn't ever slip), she was especially beautiful (Did I mention she was beautiful? Because Scotti? Beautiful. In case I didn't make that clear).
That is all there is to the story. I have no idea where I was going to go with it, but I'm putting my money on the idea that I wanted to audition to ghostwrite for Danielle Steele. I feel confident when I say there was a good chance Fabio was going to appear at some point, and something was probably going to throb.
*I would like to point out, as the one compliment I can lend my writing here, that I had some mad spelling skills. I was not the Garland County Spelling Bee Champion for naught, ya'll. Let us not examine too closely the atrocious grammar and weird punctuation.